


Messages

by Jeska



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cancer, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 09:37:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeska/pseuds/Jeska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor Holmes wasn't a man that considered himself to have many friends. In fact he only had one, and that was only on the internet. But things change when John turns to Sherlock as his wife slowly dies. In that time, Sherlock starts to act in a way he's not use to... selfless. Sometimes love blooms in unusual places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Messages

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to mumford and sons as I wrote, mostly Babel and Hold onto what you believe.

It doesn't really matter how it started, all you need to know is that it started with friendship. Kind, faceless, friendship. And it stayed that way for two full years before I realized, before it was more than that. For me at least. I'm not sure when he knew. It was always so hard to tell because he was always kind to me, John was. He was a good person like that.

I had met him in a chat one lonely night. It wasn't anything sexual, of course. No, actually, if I remember correctly, it was a chat room dedicated to English literature. Dr. Watson was surprisingly well read and the conversations flowed freely between us. The first chat lasted 4 full hours, well into the night. We 'friended' each other and from that day forth there wasn't at least one email between us a day. There were eight hour long chats that kept on until the sun began to rise. They were happy moments for me, the simple pleasure of talking to someone who actually had something fresh to say.

It was never sexual. There were no utterances of love. No. And it wasn't even a thought that had crossed my mind before. John was married and to a woman no less. He had never mentioned a passing curiosity for men. No, we had a like wise passion for the written word. After all he was a internet blogger for some internet based medical magazine. He had quite the following. I was a Classical Literature Professor at Cambridge. It was not a topic that either of us could tire of. But we had other things in common. John was always so open and warm. I knew I could be cold but it could be easily hidden behind the mask of the computer screen. 

In that two year period we never spoke off of the computer. There were no calls and there were no coffee meet ups. We lived in the same city, but never bothered. That's probably one of my biggest regrets, all that time wasted. But, it's not something we can change now. 

Now, before you read further I have to warn you that this isn't a love story about how easy it is to fall in love. That love is the simple choice that always works out for the best. Love is painful. Love can cause back breaking regret. I feel I must warn those who are starry eyed. Tears will be shed, no small amount of my own to be sure. 

I can remember the day that something changed in me, for us. It was early in the day for John. He was normally pretty strict about staying off his messenger until after 'working hours'. As soon as his name popped up, he messaged me before his name flicked onto invisible mode. 

Dr. J.H. Watson: Can I speak to you? Do you have some time to spare me?

It wasn't a question he had ever asked me before and it made me pause. 

Prof. S.J. Holmes: Yes, of course. It's Friday. No late classes on Friday, remember? Is something the matter?

There was a few moments of silence before he finally replied. 

Dr. J.H. Watson: It's Mary. She's sick.

Prof. S.J. Holmes: Oh, I'm very sorry. I do hope she feels better soon. 

There was another pause. I knew that was the polite response that was normally expected of people but for some reason I felt as if it was the wrong thing to say.

Dr. J.H. Watson: It's cancer. She has a tumor about the size of a golf ball in her brain.

Prof. S.J. Holmes: Can they operate?

Dr. J.H. Watson: No. 

I didn't know what to type. How was I suppose to respond to that? I watched the screen light up several times as he started to write but for some reason no message ever popped up. Rubbing my face, I considered my options in this matter. I knew John didn't have a lot of friends in real life, like me, and he didn't trust his sister. His parents were dead. He was alone in the world with Mary. 

Prof. S.J. Holmes: Lets meet for a drink. 

I sent it without looking. I hated dealing with people. I hated talking to people I considered intelligently inferior to myself which was most. John was different though. He didn't have all the knowledge that I had but he had a vast and impressive array of his on. He was my only internet friend. Perhaps he was my only friend at all.

Dr. J.H. Watson: Where?

From there we arranged to meet a pub near Mary's hospital. It wasn't far from my home, only a taxi ride away. When I walked into it, I knew John right away. His picture was on his blog, much to his annoyance. He was sad eyed and hunched over a whiskey, drinking it down slowly. 

I walked beside him and sat. He didn't even bother to look over at me. John had never seen a photograph of myself before. I detest pictures. He had never asked for a photo and it had never come up, so I was not going to offer one up. He wasn't that curious and for that I was grateful. 

Clearing my throat, “I'll take scotch, neat please. And another drink for my friend, please.”

The blond Doctor looked over slowly. His eyes went wide with surprise, taking me all in. “Sherlock?”

“Good evening,” I gave him my best, practiced, smile. “How are you?”

He finished his drink before picking up his fresh one, downing that one as well. “I don't even know. I should have seen the signs. I should have known. But she's always been so healthy. She gets her check up every year. They-y s-said-” he began to stutter before he began sob quietly. His face was red with emotions and drink. I waved for the bartender to bring another round as I finished my drink quickly. I had no idea what to do or say. 

“They said what?” I offered, guessing that was the best and most logical question. 

“She's only got a few months to live. Maybe a year at the most. If they can get her blood pressure down and stable. They've got her in the hospital right now because of it. It keeps spiking. They're worried she'll stroke out. She's in the ICU right now. They've kicked me out. Told me that I can come back to visit in a couple hours. They've got her sedated though. She already looks dead, Sherlock. She's so thin and frail already. She won't last long. She's not a fighter. She's healthy, not strong. She's just a little thing.”

He ended his rant by picking up his glass and drinking it up completely. The bartender brought another but I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was about to cut off the good doctor. 

“John, why don't we take you back to your flat, huh?” I offered, paying our tab. John drank the final shot and looked at me in confusion. “We'll be more comfortable drinking there, don't you think? Plus, you can get cleaned up for Mary.”

“Okay,” he answered slowly, almost stupidly. When he stood he wasn't as tall as I expected, but he was nicely built. He took pride in his exercise. I put my hand on his back and guided him outside so I could hail a cab for the both of us. John gave the address and we sat in silence on the ride there, his eyes peering out at the scenery. 

His flat was a little thing, a one bedroom with a decent sized bath and an open area for the kitchen, dining room, and living room. Everything was neat and obviously decorated by a woman. He stumbled into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of a very fine whiskey, aged for several years in a barrel. He poured us each a generous glass in silence. I took it without question before I sat at the kitchen table with him. 

It was, without a doubt, one of the most awkward things I had ever experienced. I hated human emotion. I hated petty fears. Death was a part of life. But I also knew John. I knew his emotions perhaps better than anyone else beside his wife. John was one of the only people I had ever opened up to, though it was on the faceless internet. 

Slowly, I touched his shoulder and rubbed it gingerly. 

“John, I am so sorry.”

“I just wanted to die before her,” he began to sob. “That's all I ever wanted. I never thought... I just don't know if I can handle it if she dies. When... She's going to die. My Mary, oh god. My Mary is going to be dead and they'll put her in the ground. She'll be food for the worms. I can't... I can't let this happen.”

“John, take a deep breath,” I advised but he ignored me. 

“She might die tonight. And I won't be with her because of some stupid rules. I won't be able to kiss her goodbye. I always kiss her goodbye. Always, always,” he sobbed, his wrist pressed against his eyes as his fingers curled into a loose fist. “I am so sorry that I'm dumping this on you.”

“You're not. It's fine,” I assured him. I surprised myself because for once it was the truth. I was a selfish man with normally selfish motives. 

“I'm not sure what I am without Mary,” he whispered. 

“You're John Hamish Watson, Doctor. Former Military. You are strong and you are proud. You can handle this, for her. You said she wasn't a fighter, that's because you've been her protector. So continue to do so. Be that for her. Be strong. Here, lets take these away,” I picked up the glasses and put them into the sink before he drank anymore. He watched me curiously, sitting back in his chair with his mouth slightly open. 

“You're right.”

“I usually am,” I gave him a knowing quirk of my eyebrow. He laughed, though it was a little sad and forced. “John, you're a good man.”

“It just hurts so much. My chest... it felt as if someone's stabbed me. I was just pissing about when I got the call, being lazy. She fainted at the grocery store. I had wormed my way out of going with her. Because, fuck, I hate going shopping. And, she had a seizure and-” He sniffled, looking up at the ceiling, “I feel so guilty. I should have known. I should have been with her. She must have been so scared.”

“How?” I asked him. “How could you have known?”

“I'm a doctor. I know the signs.”

“A trauma doctor, if I remember correctly. Not a neurologist. Or an Oncologist either. Has she seized in front of you before?”

“No.”

“Do you check her blood pressure often? I mean, is that something normal you do in a romantic relationship?”

“No,” he rolled his eyes at me.

“Then stop blaming yourself. You didn't know, but you know now. You can use your knowledge to help her and guide her. She'll have questions when she wakes. You can give them to her. Learn what you need to learn so that you can do what needs to be done with her.”

Suddenly he looked ill, his face turning a slight shade of green. He threw himself out of the chair and towards the sink, throwing up the entire contents of his stomach. I put a hand on his back, hoping to be able to catch him if he fainted. 

“You're right,” he whispered into the sink. 

I could have retorted sarcastically, but I didn't. Instead I picked up a clean towel and turned on the water to cold. Gently I rubbed the sweat off the back of his neck, letting it rest there until he completely finished emptying his stomach. He stood there huffing for a while, the sound painful and fast. John took the towel and wiped his mouth, glancing over at me. 

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, well, you're doing all the hard work,” I retorted before guiding him to the couch. He kicked off his shoes and laid down onto the cushions. 

“Thank you for coming. I'm not sure what... if I could have been... alone,” he breathed out, closing his eyes and opening again as he tried to make them focus. 

“John, why don't you close your eyes for a while? Maybe get some sleep? I'll listen for the phone and I'll let you know if the hospital calls.”

He took his cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to me without question. He was too drunk and physically weak to argue with my suggestion. It was only moments later when he shut down completely, his eyes shut tightly as his breathing slowed. I threw the blanket from the back of a chair over him and turned off the light before taking my spot in the chair. 

I watched him the entire night, his cell phone in my hand. He didn't wake until nearly six in the morning the following day. We finally parted ways when I walked him to the entrance of the hospital. He hugged me, quick and awkward but I returned it without hesitation.

That evening in the pub was the first time I ever saw John's face in person and it will be forever burned into my memory. In that evening I did something for him I had never done before for anyone. I had become a protector for someone else, someone weaker, someone I cared about. I watched him because I wanted to, not because I felt as if I needed to. That morning when we turned in opposite directions I ached for him, and realized that I wanted to be able to take his hurt away. It was never a thing I wanted for anyone else before. I would have hurt for him, if I could. Normally I believed that Karma took care of things. John and Mary didn't deserve this though. Sympathy was not a feeling I was known for or cared for.

That realization brought me to another one. There was something different about John, or at least something different about me when I was with him. There was no awkwardness between us, not at least the normal amount that I experienced around everyone else. I touched him freely, something I detested. I didn't realize that it was love. But I acknowledged it as something else. It was friendship. 

I scoffed dryly at the epiphany. All I could imagine was my brother and mother having a field day over it. It went without question that I would keep that information to myself as much as possible. 

Some time during the day he emailed me, asking me to come see him after visiting hours. I arrived at eight, expecting to find a drunk Watson. He looked tired, and perhaps a bit hung over but not drunk. 

“I don't think I shall be doing that again,” he muttered as he passed me a cup of tea on a pretty little saucer that Mary had obviously picked out. John was hardly the delicate flower type. He gave me a biscuit, giving me a small smile before he spoke again. “Thank you for last night. For listening to me. I want to make it up to you. Take you to dinner or something for handling my stupid breakdown.”

“You don't have to do that,” I assured him. 

“I want to. You know, I've imagined meeting you in person before but I never imagined it would be like this. I feel like such a jerk.”

“You're hardly a jerk. You had an emotional response. It's understandable.”

“You were a friend to me when I needed it most, and I almost threw up on you,” he laughed dryly. “It's just all so much so fast.”

“Yes, I am your friend,” I tested the word out slowly. “That's what friends do.”

“I didn't know what you looked like until yesterday,” he pointed out. 

“Relationships can start out in a myriad of ways, Doctor. Starting a friendship on the internet is hardly unique in our current day and age. Now, what is this about dinner? How do you feel about Chinese?”

Our near nightly chats turned into a nightly dinner and conversation after the final visiting hours at the hospital. Mary was in the ICU for close to a month before they were completely assured they had her blood pressure under control. They moved her to a regular ward to start on a regime of treatments that seemed only to upset the good Doctor even more. Mary suffered, though she tried not to say it. Her hair had fallen out, John had told me. Her hands and arms were bruised from the I.V.s that they kept having to change. 

It came to a point where I we didn't even bother to call before hand to arrange anything. No emails were exchanged. I simply went over to his house, usually with food. I even started coming in about half the time without knocking. Three months had passed in this way.

One of those days when I simply burst in I found a tiny wisp of a broken doll on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. She gave me a warm smile, her face smooth and plump from steroid treatments. John was fluttering around the flat, trying to make things perfect for his wife. 

“Oh, I am so sorry,” I muttered, putting the bag of dumplings onto the table. Honestly I was just too shocked to do anything else. 

“You must be Sherlock,” she said in a tiny voice. “John is constantly talking about you.”

“You must be Mary,” I replied. I didn't know what else to say. I felt like an awkward child standing in front of a new teacher. 

“Yes, this my lovely Mary,” John said proudly, patting me on the back. “It was my turn to buy,” he complained as he looked into the bag. “I was going to call you but there was so much to do.”

He was overly cheerful, the whole act forced. 

“No, no. It's alright. Why don't you two enjoy dinner? We'll call this my welcome home gift to you both,” I forced a smile that hurt my face. My brain swam and my joints were stiff with effort. All I wished to do was run.

“No, you boys eat. I don't mind,” Mary shook her head. “I'm not hungry.”

“It's your first night back. I don't wish to impose. Besides, I have some essays I need to grade. Grad student's souls I need to destroy.”

Mary laughed weakly at my bad joke. I flushed with embarrassment and shock at the emotions that I was feeling. 

“Goodnight, both of you,” I said before anything else could be said and practically ran out of the door. I didn't look back as I caught a taxi back to my own flat. 

The following day I paced in Mycroft's office, ignoring the fact that he was the Dean of the College and had more important things to take care of. I had no one else to speak to. 

“I just don't understand. It was horrible. I felt so angry and confused,” I explained, using my hands to make dramatic points. “And I have no idea why.”

“Have you considered that perhaps you're jealous?” He asked, leaning back in his chair. For once he wasn't being condescending. I was grateful for that. 

“Jealous of what?”

“Isn't that obvious?” He pushed. I didn't feel like being walked to whatever his point was.

“There isn't anything for me to be jealous of,” I replied back quickly. 

“This wife of his, Mary.”

“Why on earth would I be jealous of Mary? The woman is dying of cancer,” I plopped down in a leather chair heavily, putting my feet on his desk. He ignored it with a wrinkle of his nose. 

“You're jealous because she's cutting into the time you were spending with this Doctor of yours.”

“He normally spends all day with her.”

“And he spends his evenings with you. Sherlock, you haven't had many friends before. You're not use to sharing. I know it's hard, but I know you're the bigger person,” he gave me a small smile, being kind. “Make sure to act like it. If you want to be friends with this man, you're going to have to accept that his wife is going to take all of his attention now.”

“You make me sound like a child,” I complained. “Angry over a toy or something. I'm not jealous of Mary. I think it was the shock of it all. Anyway, I have a lecture hall to torture,” I murmured, standing up and adjusting my suit. “Thanks for listening.”

“Of course. You might not think it, but I do care about you.”

I left with those words hanging in the air. 

After class I checked my email, most of which were from students. But there was one from John though. 

I'm sorry, it began. He was apologizing for not telling me about her coming home. Apparently they only told him that morning. They were beginning her end of life care. There was nothing else they could do for her. All they could do at that point was make her comfortable. In the email John fretted over her size and the fact that she never ate. 

After I read it, I read it again and again. I rubbed my forehead, thinking on Mycroft's words from earlier. I did something after that I hadn't done in years. I bought drugs from one of my students. 

I arrived on John door step unannounced, but this time I knocked. John gave me a genuine smile, thanking me quietly for coming over. I had a large to go bag in my hand. 

“Actually, John, I'm here to see Mary.”

He had no response to this. I walked over to the couch where she sat against a pile of pillows, the telly on something mindless. “Good evening, Mrs Watson.”

“Good evening, Professor Holmes,” he replied sweetly as I knelt down beside her. 

“Your doctor has told me that you're not eating very well. I also understand that you have a fondness for spaghetti from Angelo's down the street,” I explained to her, trying to use my most positive voice. It was a bit like the voice I used on children.

“Yes, that's correct,” she used a teasing tone, eying me curiously. She took it all in stride.

“Well, My dear Mrs. Watson, I'm going to teach you about the joys of marijuana,” I told her as I pulled out a bag filled with neatly rolled joints. “I rolled these for you myself. This should make you more comfortable and help with your appetite.”

Mary laughed loudly and happily, taking the bag from me with a trembling hand. “I haven't smoked pot since Uni. Oh, John, look. Isn't this nice of him? God, I use to love smoking this stuff. I was an artist, you know, before I met John. I thought I was going to be a painter. I would spend hours and hours smoking and painting. Thank you, Sherlock. This is so kind of you.”

I stood and walked to the table where John was gripping a chair with tight fingers. 

“I didn't know how else to help. It worried you so. I know this is one of the best things for that. Please don't be mad,” I pleaded with him, for the first time thinking about the fact that he might not be happy with what I had done. 

“John!” Mary called. “Bring me a lighter. You should put the food in the oven so it stays warm.”

But still, he remained silent. 

“I just want to help you to not hurt,” I breathed, my eyes beginning to tear up with worry. I tried my best not to let my emotions show. 

“Thank you,” he said finally. I gave him a weak smile and touched his arm. 

“Mary, I've a lighter,” I said charmingly, coming over to her. “Allow me,” I clicked the flame alight as she brought the joint to her lips. She sucked in deeply and to my surprise she didn't cough. She held her breath for several seconds before blowing on a long curl of smoke. She sighed in pleasure, taking another hit while the it was still lit. “You're a natural, it seems.”

“Like riding a bicycle. Sherlock, please tell me that you're staying for dinner.”

“If that's what you'd like, then yes. Of course,” I told her as I sat the lighter in her blanket covered lap. “Let me help John with the plates. I would like it very much if you ate something for me and John.”

“I'll try.”

“Have a few more hits. You won't have to try then,” I told her jokingly as I went to the kitchen area. Mary's back was turned to us and John was taking his moment to breath. I stood beside him and put a hand on his back. “John,” I whispered his name. 

He turned into me and placed his forehead against my shoulder. “Thank you,” he gasped out. The entire area he was touching went warm with sensation. I placed my cheek on the top of his head for just a moment. 

“Of course,” I told him. 

So, for the next three months I kept Mary supplied with joints and John kept the food coming. For a little while she looked better, her skin not so thin and her color a bit brighter. I was there most nights but I found it harder and harder to stay. John's pain at Mary's pain was extremely hard to watch. I could do nothing for either of them. I liked Mary and I cared deeply for John. I had never had people that I considered friends suffer like that before. 

I received a text in the middle of class that made me stop mid sentence. John had his own special tone, a short tick of the clock. There was no waiting to answer it. I slid the screen of my smart phone open, reading the message I had received. 

Mary is in the hospital. 

That's all that it said. It's all that it had to say. 

I dismissed class, much to their surprise and pleasure. Gathering my things, I headed straight over to the hospital. 

The door was open to her room and I could easily see the scene inside. Mary laid in the bed, looking more fragile than ever before. There were tubes her arm and nose. You could barely see her chest move. John was kneeling beside the bed, praying. 

John was not a man of God. He had run out of hope though. He didn't know where else to turn to. 

I came in silently and touched his shoulder. He stood instantly and in a second he was in my arms, pressing me in a hug. His face was in my chest and my face was in his hair, breathing him in. 

“They're saying it shouldn't be long now,” he whispered. 

I petted the back of his hair, kissing his forehead mindlessly. It seemed like the natural thing to do. He didn't pull away from it. “I am so sorry, John. I'm so, so sorry.”

He wept openly, no longer feeling the need to hide his emotions now that his Mary was gone. Her body was there, but her mind had gone finally. The stroke that they had feared had come in the middle of the night while she slept on the couch. 

I cried for John more than Mary. Mary wouldn't be suffering soon. John would be left with her ghost for the rest of his days.

No one else came. She had no other family but John. She didn't have very many close friends, just work ones, she was normally too shy. John's family was too busy with their own lives to bother. 

So, I sat with John, day and night. I kept watch on Mary when he had to pull himself away to go to the bathroom or shower. I held his hand as we watched her die. Sometimes he cried and sometimes I cried with him. My heart ached for him. 

It took a full week before her final breath. It was late at night, the moon spilling it's light through the slitted window. It crept over her face, making her glow like an angel. 

Mary had arranged everything that would happen to her after her death. She didn't want a funeral and she knew John didn't want her to rot in the ground so she was going to donate her body to the medical school. She figured it would do others more good. She wanted to help keep other people from going through what she was going through. John didn't like the idea either but he didn't argue with her. It's what she wanted.

The nurses allowed him in there alone after they had finally removed all the tubes and machines. I watched from the hallway.

“I love you. I'll never love another woman like I've loved you,” he told her lifeless body. “I will see you again some day, I promise. Goodbye, my darling.”

With that he kissed her lips ever so lightly. It was just a simple brush of skin. He got up quickly from the side of the bed and walked out without looking back. Two orderlies were waiting outside the door to take her away. I followed behind wordlessly, walking in the darkness the several blocks to his flat. 

We sat on the couch, neither of us speaking. I didn't know what to say. Internet conversations had not prepared me for this. A year before I would have never done anything like this for anyone else. I realized in that moment that that was what love was. I had never felt it before. That's why it took me so much by surprise.

I slid my hand over his and squeezed it tightly. 

I was a full foot taller than John and my arms easily wrapped around him, hugging him tightly. I hushed him quietly as he began to shed tears. But these were guilty tears, ones of relief. “It's over,” he whispered over and over again. We rocked together in the darkness.

“I'm here,” I spoke into his hair, kissing it lightly. I hated myself for feeling the way I did about him now. I had never experienced love before. I didn't know what to do. So, I did what came naturally. I held him until his tears stopped. 

The sun was just beginning to rise when they did, the sky a deep purple blue as the golden orb just began to peek over the horizon. John was leaning his head on my chest, my arm still around him. 

“Thank you, Sherlock,” he finally said as he turned his big brown eyes in my direction. 

This time he leaned in to kiss me, his lips touching mine slowly. 

The feeling was tantalizing, my heart jumping in my chest. I placed my hand on the back of his neck and kissed him again. 

There was no questions of what we were doing. We had not slept more than eight hours in total since Mary's stroke. Each movement was automatic and desperate as mouth searched for mouth and hands searched for soft skin to touch. 

There were tears sliding down John's cheeks as he straddled my waist, holding my face still so that he could conquer my mouth. I could taste the saltiness on my lips, feel the tears dripping down onto my cheeks. I slid my hands under his jumper, allowing my hands to feel the softness of his stomach. He was so warm and delightful that I felt overheated by it all. I pulled away, resting my head on his chest as I panted greedily for air. 

“I'm sorry,” John said into my hair. 

“Why? You have no reason to be sorry.”

“I...” John stopped, pulling back to look me in the eyes. “Thank you.”

We kissed again, this time slower, more gentle. I pulled away again, resting my forehead on his chin. “We can't do this. Not tonight. You'll regret it. I can't have you hate me for this.”

“I would never hate you, Sherlock,” he said tenderly, his hands resting on the side of my neck. 

“Then you'd hate yourself and I can't have that either,” I kissed where his heart was thumping away in his chest and I hated myself. I wanted him. He wanted me or at least he did at that moment. But it was not the right time. No good would come from our union that night. “I think I should leave.”

“No,” John's voice instantly pleaded. “Please, not tonight.”

“Today,” I pointed out the sunlight. “John, you need to sleep.”

“Lay with me,” he said desperately. I wanted to be so selfish but I couldn't. Not to him, not right now. “Sherlock,” he began to cry again, his voice a broken sob. “please.”

I pushed him carefully off of me and stood from the couch before I offered him my hand. Together we walked to the tiny bedroom that he use to share with his wife. John undressed down to his underwear before crawling underneath the blanket. I simply removed my shoes, socks, and pants before I followed in beside him. I held out my arms to him and he took his chance to lay beside me. 

It was the most natural and comfortable thing in the world and I hated myself for giving in to this temptation. If he pressed, I would have given into him. I would have given him anything and everything that he wanted. 

Only seconds passed before we both fell deeply asleep. I did not dream nor did I move even an inch from John's side. 

But I awoke first and pulled away from his warm, practically naked body. He looked fifteen years younger, almost a boy. He was curled up on his side, the sheet barely covering his brief covered thighs. I dressed quickly and without looking at him before I was done. I stood over him a long time and kissed his cheek lightly before I slipped out of the house. 

Terror filled me as I realized that John only did what he did the night before because of his grief. There was no way that he wanted me. No way that I would ever have the chance to kiss him again or to touch him even. I should have used the time better, memorized his skin with my lips and finger tips. If I were a bad man I would have. But I loved him too much to hurt him like that. I couldn't take advantage. 

I hated myself for it. 

The next day I dressed in a fine black suit and went to my classes and a meeting with the other professor's in our building about renovations. Nothing of interest but it was something I was required to do. When my phone beeped again in the middle of class, I didn't look until it was over. 

Dr. J.H. WATSON: Mary's wake will be at 7 until 10 tonight at the pub. Please come. 

Though Mary didn't want a funeral, she did want a wake. Just a small party with the people that she knew from work and her uni friend's. John's family if they would come. It would be a small affair, but one of great importance to John. 

It was 9:45 before I finally arrived. I had talked myself in and out of it several times. I wasn't sure if I could handle seeing John after the morning before. I wasn't sure I could handle not see him either though. 

His eyes lit up when I walked in, a small smile forming on his face as he ignored the conversation he was in with two older woman that looked slightly of Mary. They said something, catching his attention and breaking the connection. He touched one of their arms and walked off towards the bar top.

“I want to thank everyone for coming tonight. Mary would have hated it,” He laughed in a forced way, a polite one echoing back. “Mary... well, she had not a lot of time in the end and a ton all at once. She couldn't do a lot, but she could write. Letters, stories, her recipes and all to certain people. She asked me if I could... give them out for her,” he pulled out a few envelopes from his jacket pocket. “One each to her Aunts, Mag and Peg. One to her cousin Jane. One from her uni friend, Joan. And finally, she has one for our friend, Sherlock.”

All eyes turned to me, the new comer in the room. No one had even heard of him. I stepped forward slowly, the moment feeling very surreal. I took the letter from John, our eyes locked on each others for a long second. They were pleading with me for some reason. For what, I didn't know. 

Once I had the letter I melted back into the crowd and headed towards the door. I was grateful that John couldn't go after me. He was too surrounded by people giving their final goodbyes before slipping off to home or dinner. 

I walked several blocks before I stopped, sitting on a chilly metal bench. The letter was still clutched in my hand and it was shaking. It took a couple of moments to get myself hyped up to reading these words from the grave. I didn't like it, not at all. Guilt washed over me. 

“Dearest Sherlock,

First, I must thank you for all of your kindness towards both myself and John. You have made my last few weeks on this earth far more enjoyable. I will never be able to repay you for this, and that is perhaps one of my biggest regrets. Please know that it meant everything to me. 

I should tell you this: I believe John and I are soul mates. He is my better half. But maybe, just maybe, John is one of those lucky few that have two soul mates. You two are connected, through friendship and respect and I can leave easier knowing that he will have a friend to help him once I'm gone. 

Sherlock, you deserve all the happiness in the world. Always remember that. 

With great love and affection,

Mary”

I folded up the letter and put it in my pocket. There was no need to read it ever again. I would never ever forget the words that were written on the thick white paper in elegant script. 

“Damn,” I muttered quietly to myself. 

“I'm so sorry,” a voice said behind me. I turned around, seeing John standing there with looking sad and scared. He had tears in his eyes, they were red rimmed and his eyelashes were bunched together wetly. 

“Why are you sorry?”

“I kissed you, I shouldn't have.”

I turned back around and looked down at the street. I didn't want him to know how much this hurt me. “You were tired and emotional.”

“I don't want this to hurt our friendship. I don't want to scare you off.”

I snorted at the ridiculousness. “Don't worry about it.”

“I know you're not interested in sex or men or whatever but-”

I turned back around, “who the hell ever said that? Of course, I am.”

“I meant having sex with me. Not that, you know, sex is all that I would want from you. You're my friend. My best friend. I mean, I love you. I've loved you for months. Mary... she,” he laughed, looking down at his hands, “she pointed it out to me. She was always so smart. I didn't mean for it to happen and honestly, I know that we can't now. I don't want you to think that you're a rebound. You're not. You're not a second choice. Fuck me, I'm drunk,” he finally stopped, coming around to the bench and sitting beside me. “Stop me, please.”

I leaned over and kissed his mouth lightly, “I love you, too. We can't though. Not now. You need time to mourn.”

“I've been mourning for months now,” I said as he stared out into the darkness. “It's not as hard as I thought it would be.”

“It hasn't been a week yet,” I pointed out.

“Sherlock, I'm so relieved. I'm so glad it's over,” he began to cry, his hands coming up to his face. He laughed roughly, “I'm horrible for feeling that way. She was in so much pain. There were nights she begged me to kill her. I considered it to. Killing her and then killing me. It wouldn't have been hard. I had a gun. I just couldn't do that to her beautiful face.”

“I'm so glad that you didn't,” I whispered, sniffling, as I reached over and took his hand. I didn't let go. “What do we do now?”

“Do you love me? Truly?” John asked. 

“With all my heart, John. Whatever that is worth. Very little, I imagine. But it's all yours.”

“It's worth so much more than you know.”

“You'll resent me if we start a relationship now.”

“You don't know that for sure.”

“Actually, I do,” I squeezed his hand. “You need time.”

“How long?” John asked. 

“Who knows,” I sighed unhappily. “Six months? A year?”

“Can we still be friends in that time?”

The question hung in the air. Finally I cracked, crying myself now but only for myself. “John, it hurts. It hurts to see you. I don't know if I'm strong enough for that. To see you and not have you.”

I hated my own weakness so much. I hated myself.

John tried to look so brave for me. He sniffled as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand, nodding his head as his mouth formed a grim line. “Okay.”

“I'm sorry,” I breathed. 

“Can we just... tonight? Please. Just stay with me until the morning and I won't bother you again. I promise.”

“You're not bothering me. You've never bothered me.”

“It feels as if that's all I've been,” he grumbled. 

I stood, keeping his hand in my own. “Lets go back to your place, okay?” 

We sat on the couch, just... talking. It was perfect. I never let go of his hand. When I had to go to class the next morning I gave him a long kiss and said only this, “six months. If you still feel the same way, come find me. Please.”

I tore several students apart with my frustration, taking their lack of respect towards Shakespeare a bit too personally. Even at the moment I was shouting like a mad man I knew what I was doing was wrong. I couldn't stop myself. 

It was the first horrible day of the six months of bad days. 

“Why did you push him away?” Mycroft asked as we drank brandy around a fireplace at our mother's home. She was off talking to her caretaker, Ms. Hudson, about flower arrangements or gardening or something to do with the garden. I wasn't really paying attention to her or Mycroft. 

The question caught me off guard. There was no pretense about my brother. 

“What?”

“Why did you push this doctor away? You love him? You're in pain because you're not with him now but you could be with him, if you chose to be. So why? Why are you suffering like this?” He asked, swishing his glass. “It seems unnecessary.”

“It's for a sentimental cause, you could say,” I said, looking into the fire. 

“He is single now.”

“You're not so cold not to realize how wrong it would have been of me to automatically step into Mary's place. She was not yet cold. Mycroft, really.”

“Time is relative,” he mumbled. I rolled my eyes. 

“I became her friend too, you know,” I smiled almost bitterly. “I had gotten to know her too. I liked her. I was jealous of her, but I did. I considered her a friend, Mycroft. Mary means too much to John to sully her memory. I never had an attention to go after John... even after I figured out how I felt about him. I was already okay with that. Besides, John was just emotional. I had just helped him out at a hard time. He has no romantic feelings for me. He was just... confused. He was transfixing his feelings of gratitude into love.”

“You're just making things up now,” he commented to my last sentence. “Yes, I suppose it is sentimental. But do give the man some credit. It's not as if he was a different person when he kissed you. He's a soldier. He knows how to control himself. If it wasn't something he wanted to do he wouldn't have done it.”

I huffed and looked away. Thankfully our mother decided that she wanted to go on a walk with her boys. The conversation had effectively ended. 

On the 6 month anniversary of Mary's death I was useless. I didn't work, canceling my classes much to the joy of my students. I stayed in my pajamas, watched crap telly, and drank tea endlessly. I was so frustrated that I didn't eat. I wanted so badly to find him, talk to him again. I missed John so much. I had written him thousands of emails, all unsent. I felt like a coward, wanting to crawl back to him. I felt like I was doing the right thing, though. It was the only way I knew I could protect John from becoming hurt and embarrassed. 

It was nearing midnight and I was feeling just a bit depressed and a bit silly, like a teenage girl who didn't get a call from a crush. The screen was blue and I just sighed as I looked up at the ceiling, feeling too lazy to fix the cable. 

The knock on the door was slow, almost timid. My heart went a thousand miles an hour as the blood drained from my head, my stomach churned as my body mindlessly walked towards the door. When John was standing on the other side I felt as if I was going to faint, my world going blurry around the edges. 

There were no hellos, no how are yous. He grabbed my face and kissed me solidly, my hands quickly finding their way to his shoulder. Everything began to spin, I was breathlessly happy as we kissed over and over again, smiling lips touching smiling lips. 

“I was such a fool,” I muttered as my fingers found his thick blond hair. 

“I'm not going to argue that,” John said as he pushed me inside and pressed me against the wall, “and you're stubborn too. Frustrating as well. And you're beautiful and kind. I've missed you, Sherlock.”

“Me too,” I mumbled as I placed my forehead against his own, each holding the other's face in place. 

We went to my couch and just held each other a while. It was the most content I had felt... probably ever. He was so warm against me, smelling sweetly of body wash and books. 

“How are you?” I finally asked, playing with his hair. 

“I've been lonely,” he told me truthfully. 

“I'm sorry,” was all I could whisper. 

He just shook his head and kissed my chin, touching it gingerly with his fingertips. 

“I thought about you every minute of every day. I wanted to talk to you about books, movies, music. I wanted to eat bad Chinese food with you. I wanted to drink whiskey with you. I wanted to play chess with you. I wanted to hold your hand and tell you how depressed I was. I talked to my therapist, but she doesn't let me hold her hand.”

I laughed a soft snort, closing my eyes and pressing my face into the top of his head. “She might if you asked.”

He snorted in return, “perhaps. I'd rather hold yours.”

I slid my palm over his own. “You know I was never trying to replace Mary, don't you?”

“Is that why? Is that why you're worried?”

“Yes.”

“No one could replace Mary, Sherlock. No one will even take her spot in my heart. I will never love another woman like that again. I will never find any woman more beautiful and kind. I... I never intended to have feelings for you. If I had been honest with myself it started way back when we were only online. Mary would tease me and say that you were my internet husband. Or computer crush. I love Mary. I always will. That doesn't mean that I can't love you too.”

“John, have you ever had feelings for a man before?”

“No,” he shook his head. “You... enthrall me, Sherlock. I am constantly being surprised by your wit and sharp tongue. Amazed by your kindness and loving nature. Overwhelmed by your protectiveness. Attracted to those cheekbones, lips, and my god... your voice.”

I actually blushed, looking away from him as I tried to hide my pleased smile, “Oh, stop it. You're just being silly now. John, you don't even know if you'll enjoy being with me.”

“I already enjoy being with you.”

“Don't be obtuse, you know what I mean,” I shook my head, looking out the window and unable to look directly at him as he gave me an answer. 

“Why do you keep trying to talk me out of this?” Watson scoffed. “Christ, I'm hard and you haven't touched anywhere lower than my shoulder. Do you not want me to be here? Do you not want me too?”

“Don't be foolish, of course I do.”

“Then stop it, you knob. You're acting like this feeling is one sided.”

“But it is. You can't possibly feel as strongly as I do. I have never felt like this before John. I finally understand how all those thousands of books and plays were written. I understand the why. My heart only beats when you're here. No, it's more than that. You are my heart.”

“Is that how you feel?” He asked as he took my hand and brought it up to his lips. He kissed it several times over before holding it to his face. “No. Just no.”

“I love you.”

“I know,” he stroked my cheekbones with his thumbs as he straddled himself over my lap. His face was even with my own, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright. John smiled a genuinely sweet smile as his hands slid down my neck, his thumbs now tracing over my chin. “I worship you.”

I gasped softly at his words as his thumbs tenderly teased the thin line of my throat. My head tilted back as his mouth came in search of my own. He lifted just slightly on his knees so that he hovered over me, dominating me with his entire body. My hands automatically went to his legs, slowly sliding them up his outer thighs to his ass. He smiled against my mouth, his arousal pressing against my stomach. 

“I'm going to take you to bed, if that's alright,” he said rather politely. 

“And what if I say it's not?” I teased with a smile. 

“Then I'll take you on this couch. Honestly, it's up to you,” he teased back, his tongue flicking over my upper lip. 

“Take me? Oh, how do you intend to take me, Dr. Watson?” 

He sank down just a bit on his knees, pressing his erection against my own. I gasped softly as he began to rock, his breath in my ear. “First, I intend to kiss you until you're completely nude. Then I'm going kiss every single inch of your body. Then, if everything goes well, I'm going to suck on your cock. Though after that, you're going to have help me out.”

“Oh, and how am I going to help you out?” 

He rocked against me again, his fingers teasing at the edge of my shirt against my ribs. “Well, you see... I'm not sure what to do next. I've thought about it so much, what would happen the first time we were together and I could never decide how I wanted it to end. Whether I wanted to ride your cock until we both came or the other way around. I do have to admit that I'd love to see you fucking yourself on me while I jerked you off.”

My jaw dropped at this lovely dirty talking attitude. I never knew that the sweet and clean cut man ever had it in him. It was delicious. The most eloquent thing I could mutter was, “oh, for fuck's sake,” as his lips played lazily with my ear. 

“I want you,” he said simply. “Do you want me?”

My hands gripped his ass and drew him as close to me as possible for a teeth clacking, lip biting, tongue twisting, searing kiss. His jacket fell to the floor as I worked off his jumper as quickly as possible. I nipped as his chest, kissing his shoulders and neck. I worked on his pants next, unbuttoning and unzipping them. 

“Say that you want me,” he demanded against my lips, his fingers twisting my robe into his palm. 

“I want you, like food. Like air. Like water. I need you, John.”

We made it to my bedroom, hand in hand. The mood was heavy as he pushed my robe to the floor. I took my own shirt off as he removed his pants, shoes, and socks. John was thin, less muscular from before. He didn't have anyone to shove food in him like before, and I hated myself even more for leaving him on his own. 

It was the worst mistake of my life. I should have never left him.

“Professor, you're shaking,” he said seductively as he played with the string of my sleep pants. I was wearing nothing underneath them. 

“I'm scared,” I admitted. 

“Of what?”

“You not liking this.”

“Sherlock, I'm already happy because I'm with you. You can't do anything wrong. I might, but be patient with me.”

“Trust me, you can't,” I informed him as I undid the tie of my pants and let them fall to the floor. Tentatively he reached forward and took me in his hand. I panted at the contact, feeling instantly so close to losing it too soon. “Tell me what you want me to do,” I begged, unsure what to do with myself. 

“Lay down,” he said as a tender command. I stretched out on the center of my bed where he crawled over me, his lips placing kisses on my thighs, stomach, chest and forehead as he moved up my body. The muscles of his shoulders rolled underneath his skin as he moved, a pink circular scar on the front and a larger one on the other side the size of a tennis ball. I leaned forward, kissing the spot. My legs spread open for him so he could settle in between them, his cotton covered cock brushing against my bare one. It was almost too much, too rough. But I wanted more, my hips grinding wantonly against his as we explored one another. 

“Fuck me. Let me ride you,” I pleaded with him. “I'm so close already.”

He seemed at a lose for a moment, now unsure what to do. With a surprisingly smooth movement, I rolled us over so that I was on top and he was on his back. I searched my bedside table for lube and a condom. No doubt John had done some research in the pleasures of anal sex but he hadn't thought much ahead. I was pleased that I was prepared. I took the items and placed them on the bed beside us as I crawled down his body. 

His briefs were black, the outline of his cock straining against the tight fabric. When I pulled the offending item of clothing down he sprang free, shorter than me by an inch or so but much thicker. I had played with my own ass often, but it had been a great while since I had enjoyed sex myself. I tried to act confidently as I took him into my mouth. 

“Oh,” he groaned as his fingers came to rest on the top of my head. I took as much of him into my mouth as I could, his hair tickling my nose as he hit the back of my throat. His hips rose off the bed of their own accord, trying to match the steady rhythm I gained as I moved up and down, letting my tongue move over his head from time to time. “Oh, my love. Yes... oh...”

I couldn't help my smile. “Call me that again.”

“My love,” he returned with his own grin. 

With a tender kiss on the very top of his head I lifted myself to my knees. He pouted out his lips but watched me curiously as I opened the condom and rolled it over him. The lube was next, slightly cold and slick as I smoothed a large handful over the entire length of him. 

“I'm going to go slow, okay? Just stay still for now.”

He nodded as I moved over him, sitting on his waist, his length was pressed against my ass, warm and inviting. I leaned down to kiss him once just for luck before reaching behind me and taking him into my still slick hand. 

With him I teased myself at my entrance, just barely pushing him in before pulling him out again. Each time I took him in just a bit more so that I could adjust to him. When I felt I could, I slid all the way down. John's moan of pleasure and his look of awe was perhaps the most arousing thing I had ever seen or heard. 

The pace was steady as I focused on bouncing up and top of him. I didn't want to hurt either of us and I tested the waters slowly. 

“Do you like it?” John asked breathlessly. 

“I'm so close. Play with my cock, please,” I whimpered as my hands came to steady themselves on John's thighs. My entire body rocked as he wrapped his hand around me, my head falling back. 

Each time he hit the spot within me that made my toes curls. He whispered my name like a prayer, his tender hand working me in pace with my own movements. A rush of blood whirled in my ears, my heart too fast and my body too hot. I had no more control, no more thoughts. All I could feel was John, holding me, inside of me. 

I released in his hand, dripping and hot. John had started to move with me, sitting up on one elbow. My body had gone limp with pleasure and it was now John's turn to change our positions. He was between my legs now, exploring me with come slicked fingers. I whimpered happily as he played with my ass, curling his fingers within me. Leaning forward, he teasing my balls with his tongue. 

“I want you to come,” I breathed. 

“Will it hurt you if I keep fucking your ass?” He asked in the most gentlemanly way those words can possibly be said. I actually chuckled a little bit out of my own embarrassment. As an answer, I grounded myself against his fingers. The process made him moan. 

He moved into position, sliding in carefully but it was so much easier than before. My eyes rolled into the back of my head, his hands on my hips as he pressed forward. With each pass he became more confident, pressing harder and deeper until he was taking me with great speed. He grunted with each press of his hips, his fingers twisted into pillows above my head. I rubbed his back, my eyes closed as I took in the overwhelming pleasure that was too much of perfection. 

John came with a strangled cry, his head falling forward. He was covered in a light layer of sweat, his muscles trembling with effort to keep himself upright. When he was finally able to move, he rolled to my side, limp and smiling. I smiled back at him happily, practically giggling with pleasure. We kissed several times quickly, looking each other in the eyes. 

“I'm never going to be away from you again, Sherlock. Never again. I won't leave your side until you order me away.”

“Then never. I'll never order you away. You are mine, always. I belong to you,” I squeezed his hand. 

“Do you swear it?” He asked, his nose brushing against my own. 

“Cross my heart,” I gave him my best cocky smile. He just laughed at me, flopping back onto one of my pillows. “You're my heart. I can't live without my heart.”

His face turned more serious, his eyes gentle and his expression tender. John brought his hand to my face, stroking his fingers over my cheek. “Forever, Sherlock. That's what I want.”

“Then that's what you shall have.”

Six years later. 

“John!” I shouted over the whistling kettle. Our flat was a mess of bookshelves that were overflowing, newspapers, paper's that needed grading, and random tea cups and clothes that somehow found their way onto the floor. “DARLING! YOUR TEA! We're going to be late!” I cried before shoving half of my toast in my mouth. He came padding into the kitchen, wrapped in a towel. He always looked and smelled so good after a shower.

It was enough to make my wicked heart skip a beat. I leaned in and snatched the towel away before pressing him against the wall so I could give him a proper good morning kiss. 

“What happened to being late?” He asked, ignoring the kettle. 

“Fuck it,” I muttered. All I could think about was the steamy night before. I was suppose to stay with my mother before our wedding day but I couldn't. I tiptoed in after midnight and woke him up by fucking him senselessly. 

“We can be late. It's our day,” he gave me a quirked little smile. I adored it. He loved when I was being my normally bad self. 

He turned off the stove without looking back and then patted my cheek. “You can bend me over in the coat room at the reception if you want. But, we need to be back at your mother's by nine. I've already received ten messages from Mycroft, telling me to tell you to answer your damn phone.” 

“It's a distraction from what's important.”

“Oh, and what's more important right now?” He asked me teasingly, obviously happy. 

I took his face in my hands, amazed that somehow this man was my own. He was going to be my husband and I was going to be his. No story could have prepared me for how absolutely happy I was going to be with him. “Showing you how much I love you.” 

Somewhere a phone rang and my computer pinged with a message but I ignored it, focusing only on the greatest thing in my life. His eyes were full of wonder and joy, his smile perfect and kind. In that moment, everything in the world was perfect. It wasn't an easy road that got us to this point, but I would travel it a thousand times over if it meant I'd spend the rest of my life with him.

**Author's Note:**

> Gahhh it was so long. I hope you enjoyed! Kudos if you did :)


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